Jess.”
“ The inkwell,” said Brewer, recalling the story of the blood letter. They had found the same paraphernalia at Lowenthal's.
Boutine used a handkerchief to lift it and sniff. “Blood, all right.”
“ Real raving maniac, this guy.”
“ Able to work a nine-to-five when he wasn't bloodletting.” Boutine had had enough. He replaced the inkwell on the blotter and said, “Be sure our guys get it all and take complete care with everything. Get the usual-”
“ We'll take care of it, Otto.”
“ And the telephone records. They might tell us a lot.”
“ Will do.”
Boutine, his shoulders slumped, feeling defeated by the vampire once more, went through the house the way he had come and out into the air where he could breathe. The house had been warm, like a Turkish bath, Matisak's disease-as Jess had said-requiring warmth. Well, now things were going to be really hot for the bastard, he thought. But the fear and worry for Jessica beat back all other thoughts, and so he found Brewer's car and called once again into central to learn if anyone anywhere in the city had heard word one from Jessica Coran.
TWENTY-NINE
Jessica fought the effects of the sedative, knowing somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind that the madman would prefer a mild sedative to a strong one, that he'd prefer to see some life in her as he drained it away to no life. It would be his way.
Images of the ugly Gamble and the dark, taller figure pawing over her body now played in her fevered mind, as if flashing on a screen at the back of her retinas. She clawed her way back, back, back toward consciousness, praying against hope that they had not found and removed her gun from her.
As she did so, she began to feel something.
She felt claustrophobic; she felt a heavy weight against her chest. She felt an animal presence over her like the stifling creature in a nightmare painting that might sit upon a woman's breast and suck the breath from her mouth. She felt Gamble at her breasts, pleasing himself over her where he had torn away her blouse.
She inwardly cringed and heard the other man saying, “That's enough, Gamble.”
“ I'm n-n-not fin-finished with her.”
She felt her slacks being undone and tugged over her hips. “Oh, Ch-Ch-Christ.” moaned Gamble, “w-w-what's this?”
“ It's a gun, you idiot. She's had it right along.”
“ I–I-I coulda been-been shot?”
“ Get off and get the gun. Give it to me,” the vampire demanded.
Gamble snatched at the leather pouch just as she tried to grab the gun. She was hit across the face with something feeling like a brick-a shoe with a foot in it-and it sent her back to the depths of confusion.
“ Make her ready,” said Matisak.
'Tmmmmmmm n-n-not finished w-with-”
“ You're finished, damn you. Gamble? Gamble? Put the fucking gun down.”
“ Y-y-you pro-misssssed mmm-me.”
“ All right, all right, but we don't have all night, Gamble.”
Matisak didn't want Gamble's semen in her. He didn't want another hotshot criminalist to question why the final victim of the Chicago vampire would be raped. Matisak had worked out a neat formula. The vampire was, in fact, two men: Lowenthal and Gamble. Now, with Lowenthal gone, Gamble finds himself unable to carry on, despite a valiant effort to do so with Dr. Coran. If the little prick penetrated her and left his DNA all over her, one or more of Coran's associates might simply pick up where she left off, too nosy for his or her own good.
But now Gamble, standing nude with his disgusting shape and his even more vile erection pointed at Matisak, along with the woman's. 38 Police Special, had the upper hand, and the man was downright crazy. For a moment, Matisak believed he was going to fire.
It hadn't taken much to talk the weak-minded fool into “sharing” a woman. Matisak knew all about Gamble's fantasies and proclivities and perversion. His was a sexual perversion, unlike Matisak, who had no interest in sex for sex's sake.
“ All right, all right, Hillary. You're right.”
“ And I don't want you here when I do it!” He was asserting himself with his big guns pointed, and the stutter had suddenly disappeared. “Wait in the other room.” Sure, sure, Hillary.” Matisak turned and did as he was told. “Take whatever time you feel is necessary.”
“ This is going to be the best night of my life,” Hillary Gamble explained. “She is beautiful.”
“ Yes, yes, she is.”
He closed the door behind him, giving Gamble enough time to begin to feel comfortable, pacing as he did so, rubbing his chin with his gloved hands. He then found his own gun, a Beretta. He located the stubby silencer, and he screwed this onto the gun slowly.
When he reentered the room, Gamble was at the woman again like a pig over the trough. He made of himself an easy target, but it must be done exactly right. He scanned for the other gun, but it must be below the sofa beside which lay Gamble across the woman on the floor. She was beginning to fight back, coming around again, when suddenly she pulled over a lamp and it came crashing down on Gamble's head.
She then pushed him off and slithered toward a back hallway. Matisak gave pursuit, telling her to halt or he would put a bullet into her back. She turned and looked up at him from across the room, still in a dazed state of mind, yet terrified of the blood-drinker. However, somehow she managed to call his bluff.
“ You won't shoot me,” she said. “You don't want to waste my blood.”
“ I will if I must.”
She took her chances, knowing that remaining inside this madhouse meant certain death; she leapt to her feet and raced for the back door, tearing it open, expecting the death shot to come any moment. She felt the cool night air on her bare legs and torso, and she screamed again and again before she felt his weight descend like a boulder over her, knocking her into the patchy, weedy grass and dirt of Gamble's backyard where she caught a momentary glance at the van used to lure her into the trap. She'd had the wind knocked from her and now she tried to catch her breath, but at the same time his gloved hand smothered her and he spit into her ear, saying, “Bitch! Damnable bitch!”
He forced her to her feet and guided her roughly back toward the maw of the death house, propelling her through the entryway, but never letting go of the grip he had on her arm, twisting it until she thought it would come off.
Inside, facing Gamble, who was still in pain, his forehead bleeding, Matisak shouted at the small man, “You stupid little bastard! Maybe you'll listen to me now! Now we do things my way! Now, get the rope. We string her up. Now!”
He then said into Jessica's ear, “You won't be doing any more running after I cut your ankle tendons.” Gamble came around her with the rope, a ferret that made her skin crawl. As soon as her hands were tied, both men relaxed, and the one called Matisak, remaining in charge, shouted, “Get that black soldier out of here. It's time we went to work on her.”
“ Please… please,” she pleaded uselessly.
Gamble said, “I love to hear a woman plead.”
She felt the quick slashes to her ankles like bee stings when Matisak used his scalpel on her. She felt the first loss of blood trickling from her wounds and realized for the first time that she was going to die here. Her mind flashed on the horrible thoughts Candy Copeland's death had awakened in her that first night in Wekosha: It's different when you know you are dying… when you die badly… when suffering is prolonged… Just knowing your own death is at hand…
Worse still was knowing that Matisak could succeed with his diabolical cover-up, and no one would ever know the truth she would take to her grave…
